


Rumors

by WindwiseWords



Series: Clone Culture [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Confessions, Cultural Differences, Gossip, M/M, Past Violence, Rumors, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Plo spends much time with his troopers. The rumors he hears makes him worry about his commander.





	Rumors

            Rumors were a force to be reckoned with among the ranks of Clones, and yet, some never reached the ears of a general. Most couldn’t care less, if everyone performed as intended and expected. Others that were more invested in their armed charges. Others listened to the rumors on the wind, and discovered in private what they rooted in, if they were true. Privacy was scarce in barracks, but often a general wouldn’t barge into the small spaces troopers called their own, unless invited or seen often there.

            Plo Koon was one of those generals. It wasn’t uncommon for him in off times to be seen meditating on a bunk, watching a game of cards, talking with his men… The list went on. It was only natural those soft rumors reached him, though he only talked with Wolffe or those troopers he shared a close bond with.

            When a rumor came in about Wolffe, however, Plo Koon had retreated from the barracks and went to his own room. In reality, these were Wolffe’s quarters. He graciously insisted the general take his private quarters, since they doubled as a self-sealing depressurization chamber in case the barracks sprung a leak. Even through the mask he could smell Wolffe, and when Wolffe came to store things, he knew instantly if Plo Koon was there. Tracing a hand about the reserve armor Wolffe kept in the space, displayed nicely and neatly as if just a decoration, Plo Koon set to pondering the rumor about his commander.

            At face value, it was a harmless whisper on the wings of a conversation that smoothly swapped topics when they finally noticed the silent general. Troopers talking about physical relations, which wasn’t uncommon. He had half a notion that they were made up, but it seemed to amuse them to jab at their younger or more experienced brothers about sexual conquests, or lack thereof. But the idea of Wolffe having what they said amounted to a crush, an unrequited desire, bothered him somewhere inside in the small part that refused to let up his attachments to his troopers.

            He didn’t want Wolffe to be unhappy.

            His hand found itself over the armor-Wolffe’s heart. Such a fragile organ, for its physical and emotional capacity. Plo narrowed his eyes as best he could and decided this may affect Wolffe in ways he himself, a clone known to repress everything nearly all the time, couldn’t see. And so he pulled out a small table, ordered tea, and waited for his commander to respond to a ping for him.

 

            It was a hour later when Wolffe finally arrived, flustering in the door and shouting at a pair of Shinys that messed up something in the storeroom, demanding they start all over. Such a hard trooper, but as he turned to look at Plo Koon a softness entered bronze and silver eyes. Though Wolffe couldn’t see, Plo Koon returned that softness.

            “Come sit down, boy.” To any new trooper an insult, to Wolffe it almost drew a smile. “I’ve prepared tea, a blend Master Kenobi recommends. I do hope it is to your taste.” He himself took his with a straw, making this easier with his mask.

            “It’s wonderful, sir.” Wolffe said, though he hadn’t sipped on it once. He did drink it, and gave no indication whether he favored it or not. “I’m sorry, sir… This must be about the ammo count. I’ve got more troopers on the stock, it’ll be done before evening mess—”

            Plo held up his hand and shook his head. “Wolffe, this is not about the ammo. I know you have that well under control, as always.” Wolffe shifted his eyes to the side guiltily, suddenly very interested in the metal floor of his old quarters. When did that rug get there? He liked it… “Wolffe.”

            “Yes sir?” Wolffe responded promptly out of habit, snapping his gaze back to his general with that ferocity and loyalty for which he was named. Ready to do anything. Plo had no doubt that if he were to ask him to put himself out the airlock, Wolffe would do it without question.

            “I spend a great deal of time in the barracks, perhaps more time than any general I know personally.” Plo began, pouring the commander

 more tea and then sipping some himself. Wolffe noted that although he sipped there was never a swallowing sound. “I perhaps know more of your culture than any general, save Skywalker, but he is more one with your battle culture.”

            Wolffe could agree with that. Plo often was a creature of ambush, and though he did lead right up front, he often hung about the middle and picked off flanker-wannabes.

            “I also hear your conversations, little stories, the new art painted on the gunships, and the rumors.” Plo watched Wolffe carefully, noting the subtle widening of his eye, the dilating of a pupil. Some days he was glad the mask and goggles hid his emotions, not that Kel Dor were emotional to begin with.

            “Did you hear something concerning, General?” The closest thing Wolffe came to calling him his name. He was on edge. Plo Koon worried about this, that fear of doing wrong. The silence between them stretched though Plo attempted to keep it short.

            “I heard some troopers that are close to you, your bunkmate for one, mention you possibly had an… Unrequited love.”

            Silence again, Wolffe still staring frozen in place. He was calculating, trying to find his way out of a tight spot as he always did. The tea went cold in his grip, the liquid making rings as he shook.

            “I would like to go, sir.” A quiet request, one Plo Koon always said anyone could ask for while invited in. Wolffe never took it before, and Plo reached out to try to soothe over whatever wound he just opened. Wolffe pulled away, not a flinch but a smooth retreat that kept the taloned hand at least a foot from his person. “I would… Would like to go. Please, sir.” The shaking was more visible. Plo Koon felt his own heart break for Wolffe, and he shook his head once. “Please, sir…” Wolffe retreated from the hand again, and found himself at the corner of his seat, eyes wide and… Scared? Plo quickly pulled his hand back.

            “Wolffe, I assure you, I have no intention of hurting you. I do not wish for you to suffer this alone.” Plo Koon turned his hand face up on the table, letting Wolffe come to him at his own pace. The commander stayed far as he could without really getting up from his seat. He was eyeing the door, thinking about leaving but so far couldn’t muster up the courage. Plo wouldn’t stop him, but leaving his general… His general would never abandon him if he ever did invite him for tea. Or the rare time he requested him in the mess hall for a late-night talk.

            Wolffe squeezed his eyes shut, and straightened himself in the chair and kept himself like that for several minutes as he re-centered himself. A meditation trick Plo taught him after his injury, and one he used often in private or during battle if he could sneak it in. Plo waited patiently for him, and when the bi-colored eyes appeared again, Plo had only tucked his chin atop clawed fingers.

            “I will not judge you for any relationship you seek, Wolffe. I have little experience with such things, but I will impart my best wisdom for you. I only asked about this because I know you will bury it on top of a million other things, and this is… Not one you can hide from.” Plo Koon hadn’t experienced a long-term relationship, but he’d met those he could fancy a date with to watch the stars. Close friends that if perhaps in another life, he’d have wanted something more.

            Wolffe listened closely. He always did, and he took it all to heart. Once again silence prevailed. “Shy and Hunter.” He said finally, and Plo widened his eyes enough that it could be seen around the goggles. “Shy and Hunter are a bonded pair. We call them ‘ridurr’ or a bonded pair, or say they have ‘riduurok.’” He was silent again, and Plo Koon felt the weight of what Wolffe just trusted him with.

            “I assume this is something that troopers guard close.” A heavy, almost sullen nod. “I will not use this information for any purpose, Wolffe, other than perhaps to assign bunks in the future.” Wolffe looked up, and a small smile graced that stern face. Then he became serious again.

            “Boost and Sinker. Fives, Echo, and that Shiny.” The last three? They weren’t even in this battalion… Plo sat up straighter. Wolffe chewed his lip before blurting out the next. “Cody and Rex.” The captains? “Waxer and Boil. Jesse and Kix.” Medics too? Plo saw this was no longer just isolated cases, this was throughout the troopers. And Wolffe trusted him with this information. He locked it away, somewhere in his head to keep safe from any prying minds. He went on to list several others, some Plo didn’t even know, a mixture of pairs, trios, even the occasional group. But the question still wasn’t answered.

“Wolffe and?” Plo asked softly, carefully prying into the heart of his commander. Wolffe twitched and slowly sagged over himself. “Wolffe.” He prompted, needed to know what trooper would dare reject his perfect commander. He was strong, a good fighter, high ranked, and honorable.

“Wolffe and nobody, sir.” He said softly. “Wolffe and nobody.” The commander looked to the side. “Even the many that aren’t bonded have a sort of platonic bond with someone, or a vod or two to bunk with.” Come to think of it, Plo Koon had once or twice walked through the barracks at night and saw many troopers doubled up in their bunks, or turned toward each other quietly talking. He always thought it was for PTSD, nightmares. Wolffe even came to him for nightmares.

“And you have not a trooper that desires that with you?” Wolffe opened his mouth and then shook his head.

Wolffe wasn’t expecting Plo to seem upset about that, and raised a hand. “It isn’t for any reason you may think, sir. It’s not for my scar, or my rank. It’s simply because… Well. You heard the rumor, General.”

Plo indeed heard the tail end of the rumor, but not _who_ Wolffe desired. “I would like to know who exactly. Perhaps they don’t know of this rumor.” But what trooper hadn’t heard it by then? Shy may be silent, but Hunter was a chatterbox. Plo’s new rug would be the talk of the barracks if he told the trooper.

Wolffe flinched and folded his hand in his lap. “They don’t know sir. Not all of the story. Not enough, and I… I can never tell them. It’s just not appropriate for either of us to know. For anyone. But it slipped out.” And his brothers kept the name from Plo Koon, thank the Force and all its wisdom.

Plo Koon seemed troubled. He quickly pieced together enough that Wolffe just directly gave him all the info he needed, but couldn’t tell him flat out. Plo’s turn to draw away, and Wolffe quickly placed his cold tea down and stood up to go, mumbling an apology as he took his first stride.

Taloned fingers caught just the wrist of his greys. Plo may not be one for words, but actions were big. Wolffe went stiff, and Plo could see the muscle definition in his back sharpen as he wound up to pounce away. But he didn’t; he never would pull away from direct touch unless it was the scar along his eye. With a firm hand that held much more power than it exhibited now, Plo tugged Wolffe to himself. He let his commander have his space, the foot he seemed to request earlier, and yet didn’t release the corner of his greys.

“It is me?” Plo had to confirm. Wolffe didn’t not, but bobbed his eyes from Plo to the floor and then back. A nod enough. Plo didn’t dare release the cuff of that uniform, lest he dash his strong commander’s surprisingly gentle heart like a teacup to the floor. Shattered. But he wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Wolffe talked first for once. “I understand this is… Unacceptable, sir. I tried to keep it silent, but some things are too big to keep inside. You taught me that.” And he didn’t blame his brothers for talking. It was unheard of. “I’ll never talk of it again, sir. I’ll put a gag order on it, it’ll be as if it doesn’t exist.”

But it does, Wolffe, Plo wished to say. Plo already cared strongly for the man, the one that he went back for, and the one that always came back for him. Who trusted him so closely that he shared the culture of his people, and asked about the culture of his even though Wolffe found customs boring and irritating. Wolffe, who never left his side…

“Wolffe. I cannot give you anything like the others. When I think about it, I realize that they are that kind of physical close that is forbidden by the Code.” Wolffe squeezed his eyes shut again, holding back some kind of reaction. “But what I can give you is those little things, in the quiet of _your_ quarters.”

Wolffe almost protested that no, these were now the General’s quarters, but he then was hit with what Plo Koon offered. He stuttered out something incoherent and Plo Koon chuckled gently, taking his hand instead of the sleeve of his greys.

“I see the little things, the headbutts and nudges, the way you grip shoulders of those you care for. I do not know the meanings of them all, but understand they are the affections you miss. You only give those, and do not get them back.” Wolffe was listening, but was also staring at the hand in his now. Plo Koon was warm… He always forgot this.

“You owe me nothing, sir. I owe you everything. I don’t want to put you in a position that you feel you have to do anything.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Wolffe. You’re right. I could deny this, and we’d go back to as things are.” Wolffe’s shoulders hung a little lower. Plo paused, just to make the ending all the sweeter. “But perhaps in these days of war, there are certain things that we all need. A strong shoulder to lean on is more than I wished for, and my strongest has come looking for me.”

His strongest? Wolffe puffed up his chest and stood straight. “Yes sir. I’m here for you always, sir.” Not love, but he didn’t say he loved Plo. At least not like Waxer and Boil loved, or Cody and Rex. But a shoulder to lean on.

“I know, commander. The only difference is now we can talk about that more openly. If we are to be more open, that means no more hiding your opinions from me, your emotions. I promise I can handle them, even if my people are rather stoic.” Wolffe nodded, and took a shuffle closer. Plo Koon matched his height, at least eye to eye, if not slightly taller than the trooper.

Wolffe didn’t expect anything from him to start, so Wolffe did what he hadn’t done to many, trooper or otherwise. He carefully leaned his head in, nudging it ever so carefully against Plo’s shoulder. At first the Jedi was taken aback by the gesture, but then he chuckled and wrapped an arm around his commander.

It was a comfortable silence that took them, sharing quiet questions and answers as they figured out the small gestures of troopers and those of Kel Dor. A merge of cultures, if only the first stir. And in the end Wolffe found himself comfortable enough to relax, and Plo comfortable enough to let him go in a safe mindset.

Plo Koon promised him another talk that evening, after they had some time to digest it all in their heads. Did this violate some rules? Probably. He found the rules to be less a concern than the well-being of his commander. The Code was written for peacetime, and in wartime where death loomed around every corner, he found himself happy with the idea of having someone to stare it down with. He decided to meditate, and continue thinking on it when the swirling in his head had stopped.


End file.
